Kerala!

Bleary eyed in Jaipur, I found myself in the unexpected company of a good friend who, after two weeks of having parted ways, burst through my door at an early hour (only early considering that I had spent the previous night dancing and eating my heart out at my first Indian wedding – lavish).

“So I hear you’re coming south?”

I’m rendered speechless.  Only the night before had I flippantly mentioned to another a flirtation with the idea to head to Kerala, the Southernmost Indian state, after a period of near certainty that I would spend my remaining time in Rajasthan.  In fact, I suffered a fitful night’s sleep debating the suggestion only to wake up to a very clear answer.  End scene.

A few days later we were gasping for air as our eyes grew immense with disbelief.  A wave of heat immediately suffocated us as we disembarked from the comfort of a short air conditioned flight (I’ve been living very modestly during my travels, but a 45 hour train ride just wasn’t written in the stars - as yet).

Like kids on Christmas we excitedly squealed at all the new visual delights that the city of Cochin had on offer.  Altered appearances, atmosphere, and climate equalled a different world entirely.  Unlike the major cities I had visited in the North of India, the swarm of rickshaw drivers and hotel attendants at the airport exit were lacking; in fact we were approached by no one.  Everything and everyone were far more relaxed and the addition of palm trees and humidity told me for the first time in my travels that I was on holiday.

new best friends made in seconds

Our stay at Fort Cochin was intended to be a one night affair but the light of day made it impossible to escape.  We loudly rejoiced as the Arabian Sea tickled our feet followed by an introduction to drinking out of green coconuts while making friends with the masses.  Mountains of fresh fruit and fish (not together mind you), bookshops neighbouring historical churchyards,  sipping strawberry tea whilst listening to Neil Young battle the sounds of the crashing waves, not to mention an abundance of tiny cats…  I believe this is referred to as paradise.

After stripping down to bikini- wear on Cherrai Beach (yes, in India!) we fulfilled our dreams of driving a rickshaw and spending a day in lemonade waters before dragging our feet onwards.  However, it only got better.  The backwaters of Kerala are famously known as one of the top ten bucket list sights.  I won’t disagree.  A night in Alleppey offered a brief glimpse of the canal grids that make up the serene backwaters.  The only trauma’s endured were mosquito attacks and having to rescue a drowning gecko that fell from the bathroom ceiling into the toilet while I scrutinised my mozzie bites in the mirror (he’s al­­­ive so three cheers for vanity). 

The next day, my friend and I parted ways temporarily as I head to Amitapuri, the village hosting Amma’s Ashram, the ashram of the “Hugging Saint”.  Aside from my simple curiosity, the main purpose for this excursion was to meet another dear friend.

A man on the bus whose distant wide-eyed stare should have said it all confides that, “Hugging Amma is an experience out of this world.  Her vibrations are not like any other person”.  I had to take this with a pinch of salt as this was later followed by a declaration of love for psychotropic plants coupled with incessant chatter about how the American government would likely detain him for no reason.  

From my understanding Amma is an enlightened woman whose ashram is responsible for immense acts of charity and philanthropic work.  Good on her.  However, despite Amma’s golden reputation, my experience at the ashram was slightly overwhelming and blatantly disappointing.  Although I attempted to keep any expectations at bay, that glorious moment where I was hugged by a stranger was marred with a great deal of aggression on behalf of those eager and impatient for their turn, and surprisingly by those who were working/volunteering at the ashram.  In fact, a great number of the staff managed their interactions with the visitors quite poorly, which is a shame because I am sure it has very little to do with the code of conduct at the ashram and more to do with the individual’s inability to exercise self-awareness.   I got the feeling that many a lost soul went to Amma looking for guidance and instead found an outlet in which to escape and repress the trials of everyday life.  It was a floating sea of people wearing hollow smiles whilst feigning everlasting love but then drivelling and losing all semblance of control at the first minute indication of conflict. 

After accepting the reality of this stay I happily made my way further south to the ayruvedic beach town of Kovalam to reacquaint myself with a sorcerer of many trades who I originally met on the ferry from Alleppey. These "chance" encounters that begin as fleeting moments end up building the fabric of internal change and have thankfully established a beautiful recurring pattern during my travels.